Endure and Survive
by sxblx
Summary: You either hang onto your morals and die, or do anything it takes to survive. An ongoing story of survival horror.
1. Prologue

She couldn't remember exactly how long ago it had happened. Days ago? Weeks ago? Maybe even months ago. But whatever... It didn't matter much anymore. She was too far along for any solider, any medication, vaccination or antibiotics to help her now. The women had been bitten, gotten the infection, or the virus... whatever the CDC had called it back then.

She was infected.

The military called her kind a runner. Runners were the first of the four stages of the infection. After came the stalkers, then clickers, and finally bloaters. But in all honesty, the runner stage was probably the worst stage. You could still remember old memories, but you couldn't control yourself. One moment your head was aching with the dulled pain of fungus growing in your brain, then the next you were tearing an innocent person to shreds. She hated it. But above every other shitty thing, she couldn't for the life of her remember who she was.

V... that's what her name had started with. Or maybe it was a Y... no, she was pretty sure it was a V. But she supposed it didn't matter much anymore, anyway. Not a single person thought of who the infected must have been before, or what their personality was like. Just like their sanity, the infected's past was diminished slowly and painfully. The only thoughts left were intense desires to spread the disease... spread... the disease.

A muffled whine echoed through the air, and hit the runners ears. Instantly, she began craning her neck all over, searching for a hint as to where the sound had come from. If there was whining, there was a host fit enough for the infection. And, unwanted by the small fraction of human left within her, the runner started toward the source of the sound. There was a strong hunger in her mind, but she didn't want to fulfill it. Not like this.

As she turned into the shaky building, the runner wondered briefly if the people inside would be able to put her down. She didn't want to be a runner anymore.

Another cry echoed through the decaying building, and moments later the runner was walking toward a small desk in the corner of the room. A creak of the floorboards. A distinct _SHUSH!_ sound. There were people behind that desk, and all at once the runner realized they were young. Too young to deal with so many infected. The human inside of her wanted to stop her body from walking over to that desk, but couldn't.

There was more noise from behind the desk. Feet shuffling against broken wood. It was faint, but runners had insanely acute hearing. Nothing could slip passed her.

She let out some sort of wale. Possibly a battle cry, when she saw the family of four cowering behind the desk. Hiding. As if that ever worked.

The father stood from the ground and aimed some sort of small handgun at the runner. It looked pathetic, but it did hurt. Runners still felt pain, and as the bullet shot through her shoulder, she let out a scream. Then suddenly, whatever her name was ran toward the family, arms failing violently. Moments later, she felt her fist make contact with the bridge of the father's nose, and he stumbled back, whimpering.

The woman inside the infected body cringed.

Her hands grabbed the man's shoulders, and she pulled him toward herself. Her mouth gaping, the runner tried against all his strength to pull him toward her. After a few struggles, the blackened teeth of a runner made contact with the man's neck. The mother, presumably his wife, let out a bloodcurdling scream. And both children, two brothers around the same age, probably sixteen or seventeen, screamed and cried as their mother tried to cover their eyes and pull them away from the brutal scene.

For a few moments, the runner watched as the father's body writhed and his throat became raw from screaming. Blood trails from the bite wounds were running slowly toward his family, and all at once the runner realized what her brain was telling her to do. Moments later, she was off toward the mother.

The runner could admit that that woman screamed louder than anybody she had ripped to shreds before. She felt like her eardrums were rupturing, and that only stirred all the other infected in the area. People didn't understand the more they screamed the more infected came, and the runner wished people would just shut their mouths. The infected were jumping in through windows and rushing in through doors, but the woman still didn't stop screaming.

So, in annoyance, the runner tore the woman's lips off, and threw them aside.

The one kid was crying, but the other was just staring black faced. She couldn't ever imagine what that must've been like... seeing your whole family die, that is.

"RUN!" the black faced kid yelled, grabbing his brother by the scruff of his neck. "WE GOTTA GO!"

"We can't leave them!" the other said, tears falling down his cheeks.

But moments later a clicker had its hands clasped firmly on the kid's head, and the runner didn't want to look anymore.

His brother, now alone and having witnessed his entire family get slaughtered, ran out the back door. And the infected woman was the first to stand from her prey, and begin chasing after him through the dark back rooms of the store.

At the end of the hallway, there was a door, and the kid kicked it open without hesitation. He regretted it, and the bloater in front of him screamed, sensing the sounds of a live body. One not yet tainted by infection, but had to be soon.

He looked back into the store, seeing the group of infected, lead by the runner whose name started with a V, and cringed.

"Too many..." he murmured to himself, tears dotting his eyes.

The teenager started sprinting into the back, eyes set on a small opening in between a couple of infected. He figured if he could get through that, he could hop the fence and be home free. However, he felt a blistering cold hand on the back of his shirt. Without any hesitation, the hand pulled his limp body up towards itself, put both hands into either side of his mouth, and... tore his head into two pieces.

His body hit the ground with a loud thud. The runner ran over instinctively, and began to bite every inch of his body that she could, as if he might come back as an infected. There were bodies all over the ground, covered in bite marks, and all drenched in a thick, red blanket. The runner took a moment to look over all of the recent kills.

 _What have you done?_ the woman thought. _What the fuck have you done?_


	2. Monica Jones

_**Prisoner number 102, Monica Jones**_

 _Caught January 4th, 2032 around 10pm, by a hunter named Jack (now deceased) right outside Pittsburgh. Aged 18, but swears like a sailor. Darkish green/blue, narrow eyes, with choppy brown hair cutting in wisps across her forehead. Largish cut ranging from left corner of mouth to left cheekbone, and then cutting off large portion from her ear. Cause: fellow hunter. Smaller but still prominent scar cutting the middle of her right eyebrow. Unknown cause. Jones is dangerous, and should be treated like any other prisoner. Has been tortured, but won't let go of any information on any hunters whereabouts. Likely that our comrades are dead. Jones is hard-headed, crafty, intelligent, snappy, suspicious. Approach with caution. _

_**Hunter number 189, Monica Jones**_

 _Made transition from prisoner to hunter as of May 29th, 2032. Aged 19. Longer hair, tied into a messy ponytail. Cut mentioned above has now healed (though now there is a scar), and the cause of the latter scar still had an unknown cause. We gave her the hunter mark (a small "h" heat stamped behind the persons ear) on June 2nd. Conduct within camp is rebellious, heated, and reprehensible, but overall no signs of becoming a traitor. Relationships with other hunters aren't very good, although she has made a couple friends (i.e. Aaron, and Isaac), but also has made an enemy with the hunter Eric... keep an eye on them. Approach Jones with caution, and don't piss her off too much. Unknown family origin (although they're most likely dead), unknown birthplace, unknown middle name, unknown pretty much everything else._


	3. Torture

SUMMER

Time passed in a blur, but somehow, it seemed to merely crawl along, everything speeding by. Nothing seemed real anymore, it all seemed completely staged. The people behind those barricaded stone walls had no idea what it was like living outside. Those who were "lucky" enough to live outside constantly faced death — malnourishment, dehydration, hunters and infected.

Somehow, despite the safety and comfort the quarantine zones provided, people within still waited for freedom. They wished — they hoped — that one day they would escape the rein of soldiers and into the world beyond. No one — not even the wisest among them — were phased by how brutal life could be. How fucked everything was on the outside.

They lived in a fog of ignorance.

And then Monica Jones was running toward her brother.

She was screaming, and she was swearing, and she was sobbing, but nothing was changing. There were still blood clots pushing their way up through her brothers trembling fingers, and their mother was still yelling. Absolutely nothing was changing. The clicker was still laying motionless beside her brothers kneeling body, and Monica was still lifting a gun to her brothers forehead. Absolutely fucking _nothing_ was changing.

 _Tick, tock._

 _Tick, tock._

The hours passed, but still... _nothing changed._

"ALEX!"

Monica awoke with a violent jolt in the dingy bedroom the hunters slept in, and all at once realized it was just a dream. Her eyes still glued shut, she wiped the cold sweat that lined her brow off, and tried to focus on her breathing.

 _In and out,_ Monica told herself, _in, out, in, out..._

After awhile of laying on the rotten colt they called a bed, Monica's gloomy eyes fluttered open, and light from spotted window tightened her pupils. She hated light and the daytime (which was rather unfortunate because her boss had stuck her on the day shift), but she couldn't pinpoint exactly why. Most people wanted light to come — especially in the times of the infected — but Monica just didn't. She figured that it was because light always illuminated a miserable world.

But it wasn't like the nighttime was much better.

Reluctantly, Monica stood from the ground, and took a quick look around the room with blurry eyes before rubbing them. Her back was sore, and her joints were aching, but a jobs a job, and getting her ass out of bed was better than spending all her time in that damn torture chair. And anyway, it wasn't like her pain was chronic (unlike some of the older hunters she'd gotten to know), so it didn't bother her much.

What did bother her, though, was the fact that hunters were required to sleep in close quarters with each other. The snoring of her fellow hunters filled the room, and often times kept her up at night. For a single moment — just a sort of quick second — Monica debated slicing their necks while they slept, but she knew that was a bad idea. Hunters did awful things to traitors. And she didn't want to be in that position.

Not again.

Her various belongings gathered, Monica swung the tattered, grey backpack onto her back, and started lazily toward the exit. Because of past experiences (a certain one that involved Monica beating somebody half to death, and then getting pummeled herself by a gang of hunters) she never left her backpack alone. There were too many important memories and too many important secrets hidden in her bag, and a near theft wasn't ever going to happen again.

"Jones."

Monica cringed at the sound of the hunters voice, and sighed, "What?" And the grave tone in her voice was apparent, but he wasn't deterred. "And for fucks sake... call me Monica. Last names don't sit right, ya dig?"

"Yeah, whatthefuckever." the hunter groaned, rolling his eyes obviously. "Listen, boss wants me down in sector five, but thing is I gotta torture someone."

"And?"

"What do you mean "and"?" he snapped.

"Why the hell should I care? It's your problem."

The hunter grabbed onto Monica's shoulder threateningly, and gritted his teeth. "Listen, you bitch, I've had a shitty fucking day, and I don't need you and your punk ass messing this up for me."

"I'm not afraid of you — "

"I want to torture this asshole, okay? He's a traitor. A real bad one. And this whole boss situation is messing this up." he snarled, less hostile than before, but still quite a bit pissy. "You go to the boss for me, and I'll make it worth you while, huh?"

Monica couldn't believe herself, but she was genuinely considering it.

"What'd you say, huh?"

 _Pause._

"Fine." Monica crossed her arms. "But what do I get in return?"

"I mean... whatever you want." the hunter sort of smirked, and Monica gagged loudly.

"Yeah, yeah okay. I'll pass. Just give me your next batch of rations, yeah?" Monica asked. "Agree, and I'll do your boss shit."

"It's a deal, Jon — ... Monica."

"Fucking fantastic," she said. "Catch you around, moron."

And with that, Monica push pasted the hunter and left in standing alone in the sleeping area. Without any sort of desire to do so, Monica started on her way toward sector five.

The quarantine zone the hunters occupied was split into several sectors, and if Monica remembered correctly there were fourteen sectors, although she didn't really care. The sectors were jig-sawed all over the map, so the numbers didn't follow a strict order. It sort of bothered her, but Monica couldn't do much about it, and even if she could they had bigger problems than that.

Sector five was basically all the way on the other side of the quarantine zone, and that just about drove Monica up the wall (because they were in sector four and she didn't understand why the FUCK they were so far away). Plus, the zone was a never ending maze of empty cargo boxes, large rubbish, old barricades, and burnt piles of corpses (which Monica went out of her way to avoid because they smelt really bad). Anyway, the point being: the zone was shit, just like the hunters.

The walk seemed excruciatingly slow; almost like something was drawing time to a slowing halt so Monica could think. And when Monica thought, they usually weren't very good thoughts. On one hand, she was alright with the walk dragging on forever — Monica hated the boss with a passion, and hated his snide, condescending voice. But on the other, the longer she walked the worse her thoughts got, and that, according to her, was always trouble.

In the distance, however, Monica spotted the unmistakable figure of her boss.

"Boss."

"What?" the way he said it caused Monica's skin to crawl, but she held her tongue. "Why're you here?"

"Jake sent me down. Somethin' about you wanting help, and him not wanting to help you." Monica said.

He narrowed his eyes, "I asked for him specifically."

"I know you did, but he insisted he had to torture somebody."

"For fuck... ugh. Can you go get Jake from the torture rooms, and send him back here while you finish torturing, yeah? Then afterwards come find me."

Monica shrugged, "Yeah sure."

"Repeat it back to me to make you you got it."

"Get Jake. Send him back to you. Torture the sonofabitch and then come find you. That right?"

"Perfect." the boss smirked, "Now go, before I torture you."

Monica laughed uncomfortably, "Uh... yeah. I'll get going then."

The torture rooms had been nearer to the sleeping area, and Monica sighed loudly as she realized that the trek to the boss had been pointless.

The afternoon sun hung high in the sky, but Monica could see some rain clouds rolling in. In the distance, the sky was a sort of dark grey, and she figured it might be a storm. Perhaps not a strong one like the one that had knocked an older, taller building right over a few months ago, but definitely a storm.

The main trafficking street was a complete wasteland. Cars were scattered about it, creating a twisting maze that never ended. Some (the less fucked of the bunch) only had their windows smashed or bumpers caved in. Others, however, had been wrapped around telephone poles and cement medians like they were made of a pliable substance. For good measure, Monica decided that it wouldn't hurt to break some more windows. So, as she walked along the sidewalk, she picked up bits of heavy debris and threw them at unsuspecting cars and the dead residents within.

 _Bang! Bang bang! B-b-b-bang!_

 _Scream! Bang!_

 _Bang!_

Monica turned slightly, and raised an eyebrow. Of coarse, the turret that the hunters had found a mere few days before had been fit onto a truck. And currently, it was being used to slaughter any innocent civilians left from the quarantine zone revolution. Not everyone had converted to becoming a hunter in the beginning, and those peoples numbers were very rapidly dropping.

The hunters didn't take anybody's shit. Especially not the shit of some piss ass people.

Ignoring the manslaughter happening behind her, Monica took a long, deep breath in and thought back to the good old days. The days before the she was wrapped up in all this hunter business. The days before her family was dead. The days before she looked at herself in the cracked mirror of the bathroom and hated what she saw. The world was messed up, but so was she.

"Monica! Hey, Monica!"

But no matter what Monica did, she would never be as messed up as the boss.

"Monica!"

The hunters voice had almost been inaudible over the roar of their trucks engine, but Monica heard it nonetheless, and turned around.

"What?" she yelled back, annoyance thick in her voice.

"Where're you headin'?"

"The torture rooms."

He disappeared into the cab of the truck for a moment, then popped back out. She could see the blood around his mouth, and for a moment she wondered what he had been eating. But quickly forgot about it. It didn't do anybody good to dwell on that sort of thing.

"You want a ride?"

Monica shrugged, "Dunno. I mean if you're already heading that way..."

"We are." he said a little too enthusiastically. "Just hop up, yeah?"

"Sure."

She swung open the back door, and pulled herself up. It was the second time she had been in this exact truck, but the only difference was that there was now a turret mounted on the top.

Almost a full second after Monica had pulled herself up, the hunter sitting in the passenger seat swung around and smiled. The hunter, whose name was Isaac, had teeth that were crooked and black, and Monica wondered if they were like that because of the years without cleanings or the drugs he was always hopped on. Meth. Cocaine. She honestly couldn't remember a time when he wasn't high. And the worst part was that he was only sixteen.

The hunter in the drivers seat, however, was much less excited to see Monica. When she had entered the cab, he just waved a slight bit, and then started driving. She couldn't really remember his name, though. He was sort of a strong and silent type that kept to himself unless someone messed with Isaac, or even sometimes Monica. It seemed like he just wanted to protect the younger hunters.

"Hey, Monica." Isaac said. "You been in the new tank yet?"

"No." she replied.

"Well... here it is." he stated, scratching a scab on his arm, and chewing on the inside of his lip. "H-have... um... you..."

"Spit it out, Isaac."

"Have you... heard about the new recruits?"

Monica cocked an eyebrow, and leaned forward a little bit. "New recruits?"

The man that Monica couldn't remember the name of shook his head. "It's bullshit, Monica. He's just trying to find an excuse to talk to you."

"Man, fuck you, Seagull!" Isaac yelped.

 _OH YEAH! Seagull. That's his nickname._

"Calm down, buddy. You might just pop a boner with all that excitement." Seagull laughed.

"Fuck you."

Monica smirked, and leaned in closer to Isaac. She could smell the blood on his breath, but she didn't comment. "Don't you remember the last time you got this riled up?"

Isaac quickly shushed her, "Yes yes yes yes yes... I remember well. Don't worry about it."

Monica laughed.

Seagull smiled.

Isaac frowned, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Whatever. Fuck you guys."

Smirking, Monica leaned back into her seat. She felt accomplished whenever she made Isaac uncomfortable, and she didn't know why. Maybe it was because one she had found him eating a boy no older then ten. But she didn't know. There were a lot of things wrong with that kid. And the hunters. And the zone. And the world.

"Perhaps 'fuck you' will be our always." Monica mocked.

He squinted his eyes. "Huh?"

"Uh... it's from an old book. Before the infected."

Seagull sighed loudly, lost in a deep thought. "It's hard to think there was ever a time before the infected."

"Yeah, no shit." Isaac said. "How old were you when the infected came?"

Being that the apocalypse has been going on for twenty or so years, Isaac and Monica had a hard time imagining a life without the constant threat. But older people like Seagull, or the boss often left open ended wonders about the world before. It was often enough to get Monica through the day.

"I was ten, going on eleven." Seagull started solemnly, staring blank-faced out the windshield. He had a lump in his throat, but neither Isaac nor Monica knew him well enough to tell. "My birthday was the next day when everything went to hell. I remember I was at my birthday party when the first infected came. He attacked everybody... killed — kids. Parents too. My dad. My mom and I barely escaped with our lives, and I remember her telling me that 'daddy'll be here real soon, you here.' But he was dead. I saw him die."

Isaac shifted uncomfortably in his seat, and looked back at Monica apprehensively. But she didn't notice. "But what was life like?" she asked loudly, eyes filled with a sort of wanderlust that couldn't be cured. "Before everything turned south, obviously."

"It was really nice... most of the time." Seagull said slowly, picking his words carefully. "I... uh... I remember the nights where I would just sit on my roof and watch the sunsets. When the world was... silent. No gunshots. No screaming. No hunters. No fucking infected. Just — peace."

"Hey, don't say shit like that about the hunters." Monica snarled, grabbing his shoulder firmly. "Anything even remotely bashing us and you know what happens..."

"Well, what do you expect me to say? That I love the hunters and how we kill innocent people? How I love the hunters and the way we loot the dead, and eat people?" he snapped.

Isaac gritted his teeth, "You don't have to like it, but do you want to end up dead? Or worse... tortured?"

"How exactly is torturing worse than death?" Seagull asked. He sounded genuine, but Monica took it as sarcasm and snapped.

"How... how is torturing worse than death?" Monica was practically yelling, her jagged finger nails digging into the leather seats. "It's worse than anything you've ever experienced, and I'm not exaggerating either — "

"I can imagine."

"No... no you really can't. It's not something you know until you've been through it. And you haven't, so you can't say anything."

Seagull's face shifted to one of concern, and he looked at Monica through the rearview mirror. She knew he was staring at the large scar on her face, and her jacked up ear. The ones caused by torture. The ones that had left not only physical scars, but mental ones as well. Monica didn't really think she could ever get over it, but nobody knew. She didn't let anybody on like that.

For a moment everyone inside the truck was silent, as it halted in front of the torturing rooms. The roaring engine fell quiet, and then the only sound in the air was the heavy breathing of Monica, and the slight breeze blowing past the vehicle. The sun hung slightly lower in the sky, but the lighting hadn't changed in the slightest. Everything seemed calm, but Monica knew that somewhere outside those walls somebody was getting torn to shreds. But she didn't like to think about that.

"Well, here's your stop." Seagull said, sensing that Monica had been lost in her own little world. "It was nice seein' ya again."

"Yeah..." And try as she might, Monica wouldn't ever be able to say something sincerely to any hunter. "Uh... thanks."

"No problem," Isaac jumped in excitedly, "I'll see you later, right?"

"Where would I go?" Monica asked, smiling sourly.

Isaac shrugged, "Dunno."

"Exactly, now if you ladies don't mind me — " she grunted as she slid out of the truck, then slammed the door. " — I better get outta here."

Isaac waved tenderly as the truck kicked up dirt behind it, and it sped off. Monica wiped the dirt that had sprayed onto her off, and then strode silently toward the entrance of the torture rooms.

The torture rooms were basically just a bunch of rented storage rooms the people had used before the apocalypse. When the soldiers were in power, they had been used for weapon storage, and also some contraband items too (things like extra rations, radios, and even just alcohol). However, when the hunters had risen up and taken over the quarantine zone, most of the surviving soldiers were taken to the storage units and tied up in the rooms. So they stayed like that.

And as far as Monica knew, some of the original soldiers were still alive. But years of torture and malnourishment and dehydration had caused madness to eat away at their brains. The higher up hunters were the only ones allowed to see those ones, and Monica was secretly glad.

Outside the main entrance stood two hunters, armed with automatic rifles, who straightened when they saw the approaching girl.

"Halt. Who goes there?"

Monica cocked an eyebrow, "You know that you can see me, right?"

"Sorry, but we need to challenge everyone who comes."

She rolled her eyes and jetted out her hip. "Monica."

"Last name?"

"Jones."

One of the guards opened a small book where Monica could see names written in messily. This was a way of the hunters trying to figure out who could go in, and who was high enough in ranking to enter. Since Monica was a highish ranking, they quickly found her name, and he gave a quick nod of his head.

Monica nodded back, and then asked, "Which room is Jake in?"

"Uh... room ten."

"Thanks."

The door was rather heavy, and for a good purpose. If the people being tortured ever were to escape their room (which actually happened quite frequently) the doors were heavy so their weakened arms wouldn't be able to open it. That's why the hunters tortured areas around the arms and hands first. That's why Monica's hands were so scared.

But despite the safety precautions, the place still gave Monica the creeps. The entire building was just eerie. Muffled moans and echoing screams sent shivers up and down Monica's spine as she walked down the long hallway, and feet were shuffling within the rooms. Some rooms had jacked up doors, and Monica could see inside. The residents of those ones were usually quite weak, but one in particular made Monica very nervous.

The inhabitant of room six wasn't a nice man. And he wasn't weak either. The door on his room was jacked up, though, and it happened to be just enough room for him to escape one time. This one specific time, Monica had been ordered to watch over the rooms while the two soldiers took a piss break. She didn't really care, but the man (seeing the chance as something easy because he was at least a foot taller than Monica) ran at her. The details weren't important, but basically Monica got a black eye and a taser had been whipped out.

She really didn't like that man.

Speedily walking past torture room six, Monica looked at the plates on the wall, and saw ten a few doors down.

Ignoring the sobbing behind the door of room ten, Monica slammed her fist against the metal door a few times. Each time, however, she got more and more agitated, and eventually (around the sixth or seventh knock) Jake lifted the door, and stepped out. He quickly shut the door behind him.

"What do you want?"

"The boss said he wanted you specifically."

"Why?" Jake asked.

Monica shrugged, "Don't know, don't care. But you better get over there. He seemed real mad."

"Let's be honest, when isn't that guy angry?" Jake said, grimacing at the blood on his hands only to wipe them off on his pants. "You could fuel an entire power plant with the amount that guy sweats."

"Okay, now don't go badmouthing the boss, ya hear? Remember what happened to the last guy?" Monica was about to remind him, but Jake quickly shut her down. _Of coarse he remembers, dipshit, that was his friend._ "Right... sorry."

"It's fine, honestly. Just... go hard on this guy, alright? He's a real douche." he said, staring at Monica like he was hiding something big. "Promise me you won't fuck this up."

"Why would I fuck it up?" Monica said, offended.

"Just promise."

"Fuck you. We're not kids, and I'm not promising."

Jake cracked a smirk, "Watch your goddamn mouth."

Monica couldn't help but smile back. "Sure, I'm the one whose gotta watch my mouth."

"Eh, shaddup. And I gotta go, so I'll catch you later, yeah?" he said, turning around and making his way toward the door. "And remember, young one, _do not_ fuck this up."

"I'm not going to." she called back, bending down to reach the doors handle. "And you watch yourself with the boss."

"I will." he said, "Bye, Monica."

"Bye, bitch."

"Wow, nice."

As soon as he left, Monica lifted the heavy door with all her strength. The sobbing became louder, but she ignored it, stepped in, and then shut the door hastily. The thought of torturing someone innocent made Monica cringe, but she quickly pushed that guilt away, and walked over to the table with various torture tools on it.

"Hey, little duck." Monica said creepily, grabbing a butterfly knife off of the table. "Ready to play?"

 _What's your fucking name, huh? Who are you? Where are you from? How'd you find us? Does this look like a joke, kid? Huh, I didn't know fingernails bled that much... Whoopsie. How's your day so far? You like the new cut I gave you? You're gonna have a gnarly scar... and guess what? You murmur in your sleep. Your families dead, huh? How'd that happen? Did the infected tear them to bits? Or did one of my kind put a bullet through their skull? Hmm... I wonder._

She never really bothered to look at the torture victims as she stepped into the room. They always looked the same. Exhausted. Terrified. Bloody. Malnourished. It was quite pitiful actually.

 _You wanna swear at me like that again, bitch? I'll cut you up. I'll fuck you up, and ain't nobody gonna stop me this time. Stop... your fucking... SCREAMING!_

"M... Monica?"

The voice sounded oddly familiar, and Monica's heart stopped.

"P-please... do-don't do this..." _Cough. Wheeze. Hack._ "Monica... p-please."

 _Pop! Off with your fingernail... you don't need those, right? Wait, what's that? Monica? Your name's Monica? How old are you? Eighteen... wow, you're a tough one, kiddo. You got anything else you want to tell me? No? You sure? Mm, 'cause I sure can fuck you up again, if ya want. I ain't shy._

Monica, slightly dazed, turned quickly. Her eyes met those of the unnamed voice, and she felt a cold sweat rush over her.

"Aaron?"

The man sitting in the chair had been her only friend in the Pittsburgh quarantine zone. The other hunters had told her he had died in a raid outside, but he was sitting before her in a chair all beaten and bloody and she could feel her heart racing in her chest. He smiled weakly at the surprised look on her face, the corners of his lips barely twitching.

"Hiya, princess." he murmured weakly, coughing once again. "How're you?"

"Oh, fuck... Aaron..." she rushed to his side, looking him over with distressed eyes. "What... how long have you been in here?"

"Days, weeks, months, years... who the fuck knows?"

"They... the other hunters told me you died in a raid... I — I had no idea — "

Aaron cut her off with a sharp laugh, which sent a massive zing through her chest. He could feel the burn marks just above the waist of his pants rubbing, and it was driving him up the wall. But hunters didn't show weakness. Especially not in front of _pretty girls_.

"I know you didn't, babe. Why the fuck would you leave me alone in here? I'm irresistible."

Monica cracked a bit of a smile, "Yeah, sure. You're drop dead gorgeous. But right now you look like shit."

"Well, I look just about as good as I feel."

"And how do you feel?"

"Like a giant pile of shit."

Monica frowned, and looked him over. He had multiple wounds all over. Some bad, some not, but wounds just the same. His mouth was bleeding, and Monica had noticed a few missing teeth when he smiled and laughed. His eyes were bruised. Apart of his left ear was bleeding. His eyes were bloodshot. There was rope burns on his wrists and ankles. Monica was reminded of the time she was tortured, and it made her sick.

 _You bitch! You asked for this! Why'd you make me do that... fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck!_

"We have to get your outta here, man... There gonna kill you." Monica said.

"Are you fucking crazy? And go where?" he snapped back, eyes narrowed. "There's nothing out there... I don't need to remind you, do I?"

 _You call me a prick again, and I swear to god I'll rip your goddamn throat out. You hear that, bitch? I'll tear you apart._

"Yeah, okay, but if we stay here we die. It's shit on both ends, but I'd rather go down out there than in here." Monica said. _You tryna escape, kitty? Hm? Ha, good try. Those ropes are bound in knots you can't even imagine_. "So, what do you say?"

Aaron thought for a moment, his bloodshot eyes lost in thought. "I... don't want them to kill me."

"Exactly."

"Yeah... I — I'm in." he frowned, and narrowed his eyes slightly at her. "Just get me outta here, alright?"

Monica smiled, "We go down together, or not at all."

A sort of inspirational aura to her, Monica walked over to the table of torture tools. There were hardly any knifes (the hunters liked more gruesome methods of torture), but she did manage to find a rusty old thing on the bottom of the pile. It was small, and rather blunt, but it'd have to work. For Aaron.

She walked over with a swing in her step, and begin to saw at his restraints. However, when she was about a quarter way through, Monica heard footsteps coming down the hall, and then a shadow underneath the door. Hunters didn't like unharmed prisoners, so quite quickly Monica swung the knife up and directly into Aaron's arm.

He began screaming, and was pleading for her to stop. He hadn't seen or heard the hunger coming, so when the door opened it came as a surprise. Aaron wished that she would've given him even slight warning, but he supposed it was for the best. Some of the hunters had impeccable hearing, and it wouldn't do him any good for Monica go get caught making plans with an enemy.

"Monica." Isaac was saying in the doorway.

But she pretended not to hear him over Aaron's screaming.

"Monica!"

Pulling the knife out of Aaron's arm messily, Monica cocked her head to one side and stared curiously at the kid in the doorway. He seemed cleaner for whatever reason, but that wasn't what had caught Monica's attention. Isaac was carrying a large shotgun which he hadn't had before, and she knew something was up.

"What? I'm busy." she snarled, narrowing her eyes.

"I can see that." Isaac said smoothly. "But the boss said he wants everybody to report to sector six immediately."

"What for?"

"A meeting of sorts. There's tourists loose in the city."

Monica grunted, her brow scrunched in frustration. "What do ya mean there's tourists? They bypassed the ambush?"

Isaac shrugged. "Dunno. Everybody who was on that ambush is dead." his eyes shifted emotions from angry to sad. "We have no idea what happened. But those tourists are tough as nails."

"No kidding. And the boss wants a meeting about that?"

"Yeah. Seagull'll drive us too. He's just outside." Isaac said. "But you gotta hurry. You know how he doesn't like waiting."

"Well, fuck... I'll uh — I'll be right out."

Monica waited for Isaac to be down the hall a slight way, before she turned quickly to Aaron. Eyes quickly switching from that tough, unfazed look the hunters knew well, to the panicked eyes of a nineteen year old with too much to handle.

"I'll be back after dark." she whispered, shoving the rusty little knife into Aaron's hands. "Don't get fucked before then, yeah?"

"Sure... thing..."

"Okay."

Without a desire in the world to do so, Monica wiped the blood on her hands off onto her skinny jeans, and exited the room. Placing both her hands on top of the door, she smirked slightly and said, "Alright, macho man, this isn't over. I'll see you later."

Aaron smiled back and said, "Fuck you, prick."

 _I'm really starting to hate that fucking word, y'know?_

"Hold on for me, remember." Monica said.

"Wouldn't have it any other way." Aaron replied.

 _Whatever, I'll get Eric in here. He'll fuck you up real bad. Bye, you fucking bitch._

"Bye."

With that, Monica pulled the door down with a loud grunt. Everything within the small room went black.


End file.
